


Politico Snippets

by cygnaut



Series: Politics and Prose [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bottom!Charles, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Office Sex, Quickies, Shaw Being Evil, does Shaw count as a major character death?, warning for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes that didn't make it into Politico-proper, including some from both Erik's past and future. </p><p>1. Before - 1992. The day Shaw was killed.<br/>2. After - 2014. Erik and Charles have a little office quickie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before - 1992

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings on the first chapter, and note that the explicit rating is for the second chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first part is from Emma and Erik's time under Shaw, so warnings for canon!Shaw being a horrible creep who experiments on children. Also, eye injuries if you're squicked by that.

_Wake up, boychik, rise and shine. Gutn morgn!_

Erik's eyes snap open at the familiar refrain, his heart racing. Frost is behind him, leaning over his bed so her face appears hovering above him upside-down. The corners of her mouth turn in an inverted smile when she sees Erik looking back at her. It’s an expression that looks more like a grimace from Erik's perspective. He twists his wrists and finds that his hands are already strapped down. It’s one of _those_ days then.

He wonders if the older girl is still taller than he is. At his last weigh-in the head nurse told him he was 5'5" now, and promised that soon he would tower over all of the nurses and patients in the experimental ward. That's taller than his mother. Was. Not that Erik’s height matters much these days, when he spends most of his time in bed recovering from his latest “exploratory” surgery.

_Herr Doktor will see you now_

He knew it was coming, but the words are still terrifying. He was feeling stronger the past few days, recovering from the lingering nausea and weakness that resulted from his last procedure. It was inevitable that Shaw would want to see him again soon. He always says Erik is his favorite patient. Still, Erik was hoping for a slightly longer reprieve. He closes his eyes as Frost releases the locks on his bed and starts to wheel him out into the hallway.

_Ready, boychik? He had me sterilize the scalpels already…._

She uses English inside his head, not bothering with her bad German when the Doctor isn’t around to overhear. Erik ignores her, refusing to give her the response she craves. There's no point in rising to her bait. If she's feeling vicious, she'll hurt him whether he responds or not. And if she's not… if she's feeling charitable, better not to say anything rather than risk turning her mood. She might let him hide inside her mind again, taking him to that numb place inside her head where she goes when Shaw is doing his work. It's very white there—cold and empty and blessedly silent.

Erik hopes she's feeling charitable.

Frost wheels him down the hallway to one of the examining rooms, and they wait. Erik is thirsty, his mouth feeling dry and parched since he didn’t get any breakfast. Frost must hear him thinking about it as she stands up and gets a carton of juice out of one of the cabinets. She lets him have two sips, holding the straw up to his mouth, and then drinks the rest herself. She crumples the carton up when she’s done, throwing it away and sitting back down to continue waiting.

Erik looks up at the clock high on the wall, listening to the loud ticking of the second hand and thinking about time. It’s so strange really. How is it that he can feel fine now, almost comfortable, safe in this moment before the Doctor arrives? Yet in a few more minutes he'll be in pain again. And it will seem to last forever, but it won't really. It never does. And, eventually, he'll be somewhere else. Time will pass and the pain will be nothing but a memory.

Until the Doctor wants to see him again. 

Erik startles when he hears the click of the lock and feels the knob turning, bracing himself before Shaw enters.

Shaw nods to Frost as he steps inside, motioning to the bed and Erik with one hand. She goes to stand next to his head, one hand on the mattress next to Erik’s pillow. Her mind is already a cold pressure at the back of his skull, reigning in his power and keeping his panic from rising too high. Erik doesn’t actually need the restraint, he knows by now that struggling is pointless.

Shaw is smiling to himself, humming as he washes and dries his hands. He pulls on his gloves with a snap once they're dry, whistling a little. He looks at Erik as he comes to stand beside Frost, his expression warm, almost gentle. Erik turns his eyes away. He doesn't want to see what instruments Shaw picks up from the surgical tray. He finds it's easier if he keeps his mind blank and doesn’t let himself imagine what’s coming.

"Antiseptic," Shaw says, directing his attention to Frost. "Coat the area above the frontalis, procerus and around the left orbicularis oculi. I'll be making several incisions."

There's a rustle of cloth and the clink of metal, Erik sensing the tongs as Frost lifts them off the table and brings them closer. He feels something wet brush his forehead and lifts his eyes, looking up at Frost as she cleans his face with a piece of sterile wet cotton. _Please_ he thinks. And then he isn't there anymore.

He's back inside Frost’s head, in that empty space. It's very much like a white room, but if Erik stares at the walls too hard he can't focus on them and he starts to get a headache. He sits down on the ground, which is smooth and flat as a pane of glass. Frost is there too, sitting across from him. She has a strip of white cloth tied around her head at an angle, a blindfold covering only one eye. Erik knows from experience that she’s only half here. The other half of her is outside, back in the room where she's helping Shaw cut into him. But at least he doesn't have to be there too.

Erik’s not sure how long he's been away when he first sees the blood. It only feels like a few minutes, but time passes very quickly in this place. Another mystery of perception. He blinks and in that moment a single drop of blood appears on the wall above Frost's blonde head. It seems to be coming _out_ of the wall, like it's bleeding, like someone pricked the blank expanse with a pin. He watches the drop roll downward with hypnotic slowness. When he blinks again there’s more blood, drops appearing all along the wall in front of him. Then he blinks one more time and he's back in the room with Shaw standing above him.

There's a clamp around Erik's head, something hard holding him in place, and he can't turn away as Shaw raises the scalpel, bringing it up to his face. Shaw places the cool steel against the side of Erik’s left eyelid and presses downward, the skin giving under his slight pressure. He must have started already, as Erik can feel a throb of pain above his eyebrow and wetness there, blood welling up and dripping down his face.

Erik reaches out for the metal instinctively, wanting to push it away and escape the pain. For some reason—this time—Frost doesn't stop him.

Maybe she's distracted, too much of her still back in the white room. Or maybe she does it on purpose, dropping her control at that exact instant and releasing him. Maybe it was a whim, or maybe it was premeditated, Erik doesn't know. All he knows is that suddenly he _has it_.

He can feel the metal responding to his mental grasp, twisting in Shaw's hands, turning away from him as Erik _pushes_. He sends it flying, the metal leaping out of Shaw’s grip and jumping up at the Doctor’s face as he shouts. Erik closes his eyes and keeps going, pushing harder when he encounters resistance, and then harder still, feeling a strange _crunch_ as the barrier gives way.

There's a wet gurgle, and a startled voice saying, "No! Emma, stop him—Em-aghh—"

The slim metal rod feels heavier suddenly, like it's increased exponentially in weight. Or like it's stuck in something very heavy. Erik lets go, losing his grip.

The metal falls to the ground and Shaw goes down with it, landing with a sick wet thump on his front. His face is turned to the side, and when Erik looks he can see the end of the scalpel sticking out of his cheek at a sharp right angle.

Frost jumps back as he lands and stares down at the body lying at her feet.

"You _killed_ him," she says, lifting her head and looking up at Erik with wide eyes. Then she repeats it like it's dawning on her what that means. “You killed _him.”_

"You helped!" Erik points out, like she's accusing him of pilfering extra dessert from the dinner cart rather than shoving a scalpel through a man's brain.

Frost starts, her hands coming up to her mouth. " _You killed him_ ," she says, whispering it, and now it sounds like a revelation. She runs her hands up into her hair and grips the back of her skull, holding her head and leaning forward, nearly folding herself in half. 

Erik swallows, licking his dry lips. All his plotting and fantasies never got much beyond this point. He has no idea what to do next. Go outside, he supposes. But then what? Where would he go? Home? Does he still have a home? He tests the cloth straps around his wrists, but they're too strong. He'll need to use something metal to cut himself loose. But he doesn't really want to retrieve the scalpel.

Erik hears Frost take a long breath, her face still hidden from him by her hair, and then she's standing up straight again, her shoulders rolling back as she comes out of her crouch. Her eyes meet his own and she strides across the room, stepping around Shaw without a downward glance.

She comes to stand over Erik on the hospital bed and takes hold of the straps, yanking them loose and ripping off the velcro piece by piece. Erik sits up, rubbing his wrists to get the circulation moving again.

He dabs at his eye with the end of his shirt and it comes away bloody. Frost makes a noise, and then she goes over to the surgical table, grabbing a box of bandages. She digs out a big patch of gauze and hands it to him, saying, "Use this."

Erik cleans off some of the blood, working carefully since he can't see what he's doing. It feels like there are only two cuts, both above and around his left eye. Neither of them feel very deep, thankfully. Frost finds some butterfly bandages next, and sticks them in places on Erik's face, pinching closed the skin while he winces. One of the bandages feels like it's stuck to his eyelashes, and he rubs at it, wincing when the wound stings again. Frost is washing her hands in the sink, and when she's done she turns back to Erik and takes his wrist, pulling him off the bed and onto his feet.

Erik stumbles, but Frost doesn't stop, dragging him by the arm across the room, and marching him past Shaw as they go out the door. He can't help looking back at the body as they leave. Shaw's features are still recognizable under the blood and tissue that's leaking sluggishly from the hole in the side of his face.

They walk through the hallways, going past nurses and other patients on gurneys. Frost's face is splattered with blood, a spider web pattern across her left cheek which is dripping down onto her collar and shoulder. It stands out bright red against the stiff white of her nurse's uniform, but no one seems to notice. She traces their earlier path back to Erik's room, but doesn't enter it, continuing past the door and down a hallway that Erik’s never seen before.

There's a sort of gate at the end, a set of metal bars blocking their way. There's a large steel lock on the outside, facing away from them, like the gate isn’t meant to be opened from this side.

Frost turns to him. _Open it._

Erik raises his hand, so used to following her commands that he hardly thinks before he's twisting the bars apart. He bends them aside so there's enough space for both of them to climb through, one after the other.

Frost takes his wrist again and continues tugging him along. They pass through another gate and two more locked doors, Erik opening each one.

The last door opens into a bright corridor. It’s similar to the green painted hallways Erik is used to, and yet completely different. There are people in this hallway, dozens of people, nurses and orderlies and doctors and patients coming and going.

Erik shies away from one of the doctors in a white coat, trying to take refuge in an open doorway, but Frost doesn't let him hide. She squeeze his wrist tighter and pulls him after her as she weaves through the crowd, the hallway seeming to get noisier and noisier the further they walk. She seems to know where she's going, eyes sharp as her head turns this way and that. Finally, they come around a corner and find themselves in a huge open area full of seats and tables. Patients in plain clothes are milling around everywhere, and there are nurses behind a desk on the far wall. Erik digs in his heels, startled by the loud noise of dozens of people talking at once, but Frost doesn't let him stop. _Come on, come on, no one's looking._

On the other side of the room, directly across from them, is a door to the outside.

Frost squares her shoulders, the same motion she made in the room when she was standing above Shaw's corpse, and then they're walking toward it. A man and a child coming from the other direction come inside, the door opening and then closing again behind them as Emma and Erik stride toward it. It's glass, with something written on it backwards in red letters, and outside Erik can see gray sky. He walks faster, matching Frost's pace so they're walking side by side. They step out together, Frost throwing the door open with a determined movement of her arm.

It's cold outside. The first time Erik has been outdoors in over four years. It's also raining, a slow wet mist. Frost doesn't seem to notice that Erik is barefoot, still dragging him along by the wrist as he stumbles through the puddles on the sidewalk and the wet autumn leaves. His feet are soon tingling with the cold and he scrapes his big toe painfully on a curb outside the hospital. The bottoms of his scrubs soak through with water, the ends clinging to his ankles uncomfortably.

They walk through a parking lot, taking a long sidewalk toward what sounds like a road, with a rush of cars and the occasional honk of a horn. Erik wonders if it's the same road he could hear from his window.

When they get to the street Frost turns left, still holding Erik’s wrist. The cars seem to be going very fast, and they look strange, odd new models with over-bright colors. Erik thinks he sees an American sports car, the insignia whizzing past in a rush of chrome, but that can't be right.

"Frost," Erik tries. "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?"

"There's a police station on the corner," she says, not turning her head. "We'll go in there and tell them the Doctor is dead. Then they'll have to do something about it."

"The police?" Erik asks. He feels like there's a hole in her plan somewhere, but he can't quite figure out what it is. He yanks back on her hand, trying to get her to stop, but she won't. So instead Erik throws out his free hand, using the gesture to help extend his power and catch hold of a sign by the road, something about parking regulations. He only meant to use it as an anchor, but he yanks so hard the sign comes right off the pole. He twists his wrist and it flies toward them, the flat metal twisting and turning, slightly out of control. It crashes flat into Frost’s front, making her shout and nearly fall over.

"What are you _doing_ ," she snaps, turning on him.

"We can't go to the police. They'll arrest us."

"No they won't. They'll have to‚ they'll—" Frost's face goes pale, her eyes widening. She finally lets go of Erik's wrist, reaching up to press her hand against her cheek instead. "Oh no, oh no."

"What?"

"They won't believe us. I should have grabbed one of the human kids, what was I thinking. We’re both mutants." She turns around in a circle, looking around the street with blank eyes. "No, no, stupid, stupid—how could you be so _stupid_ , Emma."

"Frost," Erik says, but she's not listening to him, still turning in a circle and talking to herself, rubbing her hands together.

"What are we going to do," she says, not looking at Erik. "We can't go back, we can't go back—"

There are other pedestrians on the street, although probably not as many as there would be without the rain. A middle-aged woman hefting several packages gives Erik an odd look as she passes. If he doesn't do something soon they won't have a choice about going to be police.

"Emma," he says. She stops, finally looking at him. "Why don't you just _make_ one of the human kids come here?"

"The Doctor would never let—oh." She blinks a few times, and then her eyes grow distant, looking away from Erik and above his head. She stares away for a long moment while Erik waits, sniffing and rubbing his face with the back of his hand. His nose is starting to run from the cold, and his eyebrow is throbbing with a dull pulsing pain.

Eventually a small figure appears in the distance, dressed in the same green scrubs as Erik. She walks up to them slowly, as if she's dreaming. Erik thinks he recognizes her. He remembers her face from hospital corridors and gurneys, and watching other children being wheeled past as he lay immobile. She smiles at him vaguely when she reaches their corner of the sidewalk, and Erik smiles back. "What's your name?"

"Magda," she says, tilting her head and giving him a dazed look. "It's raining."

"Yes.”

"Okay," Frost says. "Now we can go." She takes both of their hands and leads them further down the street. There's a police station there, just like Frost said. Outside Erik sees the familiar compass and hammer, the emblem carved over the arched doorway, but inside things look different somehow. Erik doesn't recognize the officers at first. They're all wearing new green uniforms with strange patches on the shoulders.

Frost doesn't seem perturbed. She walks straight up to the officer at the desk without letting Erik linger. The man there is older than most of the other officers, wrinkles etched deep in his face. He looks up from his newspaper as they walk up to him, rising slightly in his seat as he takes in the three of them.

Frost doesn't wait for the policeman to ask questions. "I have come from—I have—put to the death Doctor Sebastian Shaw,” she explains, her words halting. She pauses, looking uncertain, and then takes refuge in familiar phrases and titles. “The Director of the Experimental Medicine Ward.”

The policeman tilts his head, looking confused. Probably he can’t understand Emma’s accent.

"We came from the hospital down the road," Erik explains, stepping closer to help translate Frost's bad German. "And I'm bleeding. We need help."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people have now read this and commented on it that I'm not sure I remember them all /o\ 
> 
> Thanks to clawfoot, dori, unf, and anyone else I'm forgetting for their help and suggestions.


	2. After - Office Quickie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little office-porn sex scene set post-Politico.

Once they've been dating for a few weeks Charles starts coming by Erik's office for lunch. This unnerves his staff at first—they're not used to Erik having _friends_ , nonetheless a boyfriend—but they soon come to appreciate having Erik away and out of their hair for an hour or two. It takes four of these visits before Erik realizes that Charles has a hidden motive. 

Charles arrives one day while Erik is looking over an issue brief, closing the door behind him. "Just give me a second," Erik says, barely glancing up as he makes a note in the margins. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees Charles take off his coat and hang it up. He leans his cane against Erik's desk and sits down, and then proceeds to take off his suit jacket as well. He folds it carefully over the back of the chair and begins to unbutton his dress shirt next. 

Erik looks up as Charles is finishing with the last of the buttons. "What are you—do you need to change, or...?"

"No, Erik," Charles says, rolling his eyes. He slides his open shirt off his shoulders and starts unbuckling his belt. "I just don't want to get come on my good suit. I've got a meeting with the university board later." 

It takes several seconds for Erik to understand what he means. "What? You want to have sex? Now? _Here?_ " Erik holds up his hands, indicating the not-very impressive room. Freshman legislators don't exactly get the best office space. 

"Yes," Charles says, his tone of voice implying that Erik is the one being weird about this. "Haven't you ever heard of a lunchtime quickie? Now's our chance. You've always had people around the other times I've been here."

"Well, I didn't realize you were trying to take advantage!" 

"Clearly," Charles replies. "Do you have any condoms?"

"What? No, it's an _office,_ not a bordello," Erik snaps.

Charles gives him a pitying look and gets up, his pants dropping to the ground as he stands. "You led a very sad life before you met me, didn't you?"

"Have you been talking to Emma?" Erik asks. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. I've had lots of sex, _tons_ of sex. With all sorts of people. I mean—before, obviously—" Erik gestures in a vague attempt to indicate the two of them. 

"Uh huh, stop talking," Charles says, pulling his undershirt over his head. Once he's shirtless Charles starts clearing things off of Erik's desk, shifting papers aside and moving his keyboard back. "Do you have a pillow or anything?"

"Uh, no, not really. Emma might have one on the couch in her office."

Charles pauses. "Is it white?"

"Of course."

"Hm, better not risk it," Charles says, opening a desk drawer and stowing Erik's stapler inside. "It's just that I've found that lying across a desk or a table is the most comfortable position for me for penetration. It doesn't put pressure on my back and I can get more leverage with my feet than if I'm lying flat on a bed." Charles leans forward, stretching out on his stomach to demonstrate. He reaches across to grip the edge of the desk while he braces his feet against the sides and spreads his legs. "The problem is I need a pillow or something to help keep the angle of my spine from becoming painful." 

Erik opens his mouth but can't seem to think of a reply. Charles shifts around with a thoughtful look on his face, adjusting his position and wiggling his ass while Erik stares. The fabric of his black boxer briefs is quite thin and not much is left to the imagination.

Charles notices Erik's distraction and smiles, looking back at him over his shoulder. "Would you be a dear...?"

Erik sneaks into Emma's office and steals the pillow. He wraps it in his own shirt as a protective layer and figures he can always pay to have it dry-cleaned if worse comes to worse. 

When he gets back, there are several condoms and packets of lube lined up on the desk and Charles has shed all of his clothing except his socks. It should look ridiculous, but instead of laughing at him Erik's mouth goes dry. He hands Charles the pillow.

"Oh, thank you," Charles says, tucking it under his chest. "Sorry, but I got a bit bored and started without you."

"Uh huh," Erik says faintly, walking around to stand behind Charles where he can see what he means. One of the lube packets is torn open and when Erik slides a finger between Charles' cheeks he finds that he's already slick there.  

Charles makes an appreciative noise and shifts, adjusting his position as Erik steps closer and moves between his legs. "Mm, that's nice."

"Uh huh," Erik repeats. He takes Charles' hip with his free hand while his other continues the work of opening him up, angling his fingers the way he knows Charles likes. He also fumbles at his belt with his powers, needing several attempts before he manages to get the buckle open and his zipper down. The condom, frustratingly, requires that he takes his hands off Charles for several agonizing seconds. But once it's on it's only the work of a moment to line himself up and slide inside while Charles lets out a long appreciative hiss. 

"God," Erik says, still not feeling very articulate. 

"Oh, didn't you know?" Charles asks, giggling a little in anticipation of his own joke. "I'm quite good at taking _dic_ tation."

Erik pauses mid-thrust. " _Charles_."

Charles laughs again, and looks back at him. "Sorry, sorry, do go on." He waves one hand in the air, encouraging Erik to get going, and Erik thrusts in response, earning another pleased gasp from Charles. Well, it is supposed to be a quickie. He starts moving in earnest, only hoping that the closed door is enough to muffle the obscene noises they're making. Charles is always pretty vocal, but he tries covering his mouth and biting his knuckles today, so at least he has _some_ sense of propriety. 

Erik feels his orgasm coming fast and gets a hand underneath Charles to make sure he follows him over. It only takes a few strokes before Charles is saying, "oh, oh, _oh_ ," the way he always does and then Erik is gritting his teeth as his hips give a final rhythmless stutter. 

Erik braces his arms on the desk to keep from collapsing on top of Charles. It takes several moments of panting before he catches his breath enough to speak. "Do you have any other fantasies like this?" he asks. "I feel we should get then out in the open, you know, communicate."

"Hm, not really," Charles says, turning his head so they can exchange a quick kiss. "Well, I did have this weird dream recently where I was giving you a blowjob on the Assembly floor. Like behind one of those little desks?" 

Erik pulls himself upright. "Tell me more. Was this a general assembly or a special session?"

"Uh, general, I guess? There were certainly a lot of people there." Charles gets up as well, stretching his back and shoulders carefully like he's checking for strained muscles. It's only then that Erik notices that his desk was not completely cleared off. 

"Ugh, my desk blotter!" he says, lifting up the now-ruined calendar and glaring at Charles. 

Charles laughs. "Sorry about that."

"I needed this!" Erik says, annoyed at Charles' unapologetic tone. The ink has already started to run on several appointments Erik has in the third week of April. 

"Come on," Charles says, fishing a package of tissues out of his jacket pocket. "Let's go to lunch and I'll show you how to use the calendar on your phone." 


End file.
